


The engagement sword

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [35]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diverges in 4x4, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25764757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: When a man gifts his sword to a woman, it implies an unbreakable proposal of marriage according to an ancient Westerosi tradition. And when Tywin Lannister finds out that his son's sword is missing, he decides to take advantage of this age-old custom.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 16
Kudos: 95





	The engagement sword

**Author's Note:**

> This "custom" is something I made up based on an ancient practice from where I come from.  
> Thank you for reading and enjoy!

“Where is your sword, son?”

Jaime kept his eyes on the White Book, continuing to absently flip the pages. He had expected to be questioned about its whereabouts, but not so soon, not before he could make arrangements for its new owner to safely leave the city on her quest.

“Jaime?”

He could feel his father’s piercing eyes on him, ruthless and all-seeking, determined to go to any lengths to get what he wanted. “I gave it away to someone worthy enough to put it to use,” he admitted, looking up to bear the brunt of the predatory gaze.

Tywin got up, towering over him, making him feel like the lad he’d been three quarters of his life ago. “Valyrian steel,” he reminded him in a hushed tone. “With a golden lion to mark our legacy and encrusted with rubies—” his jaw tightened, taking on an accusing front “—I wished for it to be handed down for generations and you decided to—” he blinked just once, as if trying to keep a tight check on his anger “—give it away? Why?”

Jaime didn’t answer.

“Who is the lucky recipient, if I may ask? Who, apart from your sister, has managed to touch you so deeply that you felt an urge to just hand it away?”

“I can’t say,” he murmured, the depth in his tone going down with every word. “I—”

“I have ways to find out. And you do know that, I presume?” his father gently prodded him, the underlying threat too obvious to be subtle. “Tell me and I promise I will—”

“Lady Brienne—I gave it to her—”

“You gifted your priceless sword to a woman?” To Jaime’s surprise, Tywin relaxed, the stiffness in his shoulders easing away as his lips thinned into an unmistakable smile. “Do you realize what that means, son?”

Jaime waited, the words a violent blow to his gut. If Brienne were to come to any harm because of this, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

His father perched on the edge of the table. “There used to be a tradition in old Westeros,” he began to explain, eyes crinkling, the smile unshaken. “If a man presents his sword to a woman, it implies a proposal of marriage.”

Jaime felt his blood drain away. “I have not seen it practiced anymore,” he defended his ignorance, a distant picture of him placing a scarlet cloak on the wench floating around in his head. 

“That is because no man has ever presented a blade to a maiden for generations,” Tywin argued, crushing his defence. “Since you decided to—”

“It doesn’t mean anything—” 

“It means you have to wed her, bed her and put a child in her,” his father gleefully declared. “It means I must make haste and write to Lord Selwyn, appraising him of this delightful development.” 

“You can’t.” He pictured her appalled face, although he, himself, found the prospect a lot more desirable than it sounded. “She won’t agree to it.”

“Why won’t she? You love her and she—” Tywin took a moment’s pause to ponder “—she does too, if I’m not severely mistaken, for if she didn’t, she would never have accepted a priceless gift from you.”

 _Three gifts,_ Jaime corrected him in his head, _with one more to come when I bid her goodbye come dawn tomorrow._ But much more jolting than this revelation was his father’s deduction that he—

“She is not in love with me.” _She has her vows to keep, a girl to find and protect._

“You are, though—absolutely and completely smitten.” It was an observation, not a question, and nothing but the blunt truth—something that had taken him this confrontation to realize and come to terms with it. “And you will make sure she agrees—”

“I can’t compel her.”

“I don’t think you will find any need to,” Tywin guessed, his words accompanied by a confident smile. “Go to her, son, and make your own life and make me proud.” He gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “Be the man you ought to be.”

+++++

“My lady.”

Jaime stepped in hesitantly and she rose, putting away the blade she’d been fondly admiring. “Ser Jaime? I expected tomorrow morning to be our final goodbye.”

He found himself searching her eyes, to find out if his father’s surmise had any meat to it, but no more he could see than deep regard and unquestionable respect. And—

_A slight tinge of sadness, maybe? A reluctance to part ways with him?  
_

Encouraged, he approached her. “The sword, my lady—” he cleared his throat “—I just happened to have a word with my father—”

“Because he happened to miss its presence and question you about it.” She handed it to him, the mildest of lines appearing on her forehead, but gone within seconds. “I’m sure he would expect it back, so I do understand if you want it—”

“It’s yours,” he softly turned her down, pushing it back into her arms. “It will always be yours, Brienne. I cannot even dream of taking it back.”

Confusion gripped her eyes. “Why then—” 

“I came here to talk to you about something else.” His heart rose to his throat, thundering away madly, wanting him to go on, yet, agitating him enough to hinder the delicate proclamation he wanted to make. “The sword, I am informed, when it changed hands from me to you—”

“—sealed, with its transfer, a sacred promise of marriage between us,” she echoed his exact words, much to his surprise. “One that a nobleman cannot go back on when accepted, for it would mean breaking a vow. But when I took the weapon from you I had no such expectation from you, Ser Jaime.” A faint shadow of dejection crossed her features. “In our eyes, you made me no such proposal for you bore no such intent. You are, therefore, free of any obligation. If that’s what has been bothering your father, you can rest assured that I have no intention to pursue it—” 

“What if I told you I _do_ want to abide by this beautiful tradition?” He brought his hand over hers, their fingers caressing the lion on the pommel. “What if I told you that I have, for the first time in my life, made up my mind to agree with my father and take a wife?”

Her eyelids began fluttering at the pace of his merrily racing heart. “I don’t hold you responsible for your ignorance, Ser Jaime. I already told you—” She halted, a blush creeping up her neck when he tightened his fingers around hers. “I know you love another,” she gently went on. “You don’t have to think you’re bound to me just because of some old—”

“What if I told you it isn’t tradition that brings me here tonight?” He took the sword from her shaking hands and placed it on her bed. “What if I just realized that my father, though a much needed voice that had to penetrate my head to awaken me to the truth, is not why I seek your hand?” His love, reflected in her eyes, infused him with the courage to face his confession. “What if I told you that I love _you_ , Brienne, not another. I failed to comprehend this wonderful development earlier. I’m such an idiot—”

“That, you are,” she agreed with a girlish giggle, eyes shining brighter than the moon outside. “You proved it when you lied to Locke about the sapphires and jumped into that pit one-handed and unarmed.” The mischievous smile faded away and her gaze softened. “For me,” she added, voice falling to a whisper.

“Marry me, my lady,” he implored, leaning, pulled in by the depth of those enchanting eyes. “Not because our ancestors demand it must be done. Not because my father insists on it. What if I told you that like this sword—” he came closer, stump brushing her waist, hand stroking her cheek, hoping she agreed, desperate to kiss her “—I am yours. I will always be yours.” 

“Then I would say—” shedding away her invisible armour, she tilted her face to meet his lips “—so am I, my lord,” she whispered, smiling into his kiss. “From this day until the end of my days.” 


End file.
